


The Twelve Things I Hate About Christmas

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Holiday, Humor, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-18
Updated: 2007-11-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 17:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: #9 1/2 in The Fountain of Youth Series. Hershey, singing Christmas tree lights and a dozen home school kids create indelible memories in the O'Neill/Jackson household.





	The Twelve Things I Hate About Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

The Twelve Things I Hate About Christmas

 

“Jack? Psssst, Jaaaccckk.”

“Daniel!” Janet’s voice. “Leave him alone or you’ll have to leave the infirmary.”

A small hand pats my cheek lightly, then with a little more force, and a voice inside my head picks up where the voice outside my head left off. 

_‘Come on, Jack, wake up! We have to go home. Janet’s gonna make me go home with her if you don’t wake up soon and I don’t want to. Please wake up?’_

Oh for cryin’ out loud. I shake my head and reach automatically to hold it on, except I miss and hit myself smack in the eye. 

Small hands wrap around my wrist and pull my hand down to my side. 

“You awake?” Daniel whispers, looming directly in my vision like someone’s applied a fisheye lens to my corneas. This time my hand reaches the right destination and clutches the getting-sparser grey hair at my temple. 

“What happened?” Is that really me? I sound a hundred years old.

“Uhm,” Daniel says, scrunching up his face - though that might just be my blurry vision. “You . . . tripped.”

“Tripped.” I don’t have the energy to frame it as a question and wracking my fuzzy brain I can come up with no good reason for being this fuzzy. 

I’m relatively certain there were no Fuzzy Navels involved since all the hard liquor’s been removed from the house with Daniel’s downsizing. I’ve been tempted a couple of times, to get plastered, this parenting thing isn’t always fun and games, ya know. 

I raise my other hand to my head as well – or at least I try. But it’s damned heavy . . . and flamingo pink . . . and I’m positive I’m hallucinating. 

“What the hell is this?” I wave it in front of my face, but the color doesn’t change. 

Daniel’s scrunched-up face does though. He looks appallingly guilty. And another face slides into my line-of-sight.

“Get down, Daniel. I told you to leave him alone.”

I curl an arm – the one that’s not strangely pink – around whatever part of him I can reach; which I’m not sure at the moment what part it is, but I hang on anyway. “He’s not bothering me.”

Janet sighs and taps my cheek. “Follow my finger, sir.”

Ohhhh, not a good idea.

I barely make it over on my side before the nausea gags me. I’m not quite sure what it is about vomiting, but memory returns, along with a lightening bolt of pain that shoots from the top of my head out through my left big toe, except it gets trapped inside my hiking boot and reverberates back up through my skull. “Why the hell did you put me out to cast the damn thing?” I never do well with anesthesia and Frasier knows it. 

This is payback for something. 

“You were in a lot of pain, Colonel, and not being particularly cooperative.”

Okay, I have to think about that for a moment. I don’t remember that part. 

I remember lights spread out from one from one end of the living room to the other. I remember an intense desire to murder Cassie for giving in to Teal’c and Daniel’s begging to get the lights that play Jingle Bells every time someone walks past and I remember wondering if I could accidentally smash a few while they were spread out on the floor, hoping they’d be those kind of lights that if one dies, they all die. 

Wait . . . it’s coming back . . . slowly. 

The dog, something about the dog . . . Hershey got tangled in the singing light . . . somehow. But that still doesn’t explain why the doc put me out to cast a broken arm. 

Or why the cast is bright pink.

I roll back over with a groan to be met with a warm washcloth and an arm around my shoulders heaving me up. 

“Oh – shit.” I’m gasping for air now. 

“Uhmmm, you have a couple of cracked ribs too, sir. Take it easy, Teal’c.”

A cup is pressed to my lips and tilted so I inhale water and gag again. 

“Don’t swallow!” Janet’s voice admonishes. “This is just to rinse your mouth. Here, spit.”

I spit all right. “T?”

“O’Neill?”

“Back – gently, please.” 

“Jack?” Daniel’s voice, contrite. “Is he gonna be okay?” And frightened.

I grope for his hand. I’m in my own clothes, just lying _on_ the bed, so I’m still at a loss why she’d put me out just to put a damn cast on my friggin’ arm. 

I remember very well getting run down by a frantic Hershey, wrapped in lights singing Jingle Bells louder than he could bark, and landing on my ass. I guess I should be thankful it’s not my tailbone that’s broken. On the other hand, I don’t remember breaking anything else. 

“I’m okay, Sport. Just a little cloudy.”

“That would probably be the electrical shock you received, sir.”

“Electrical shock?” I repeat dumbly. That could explain the continued buzzing in my head.

“From the lights, sir.”

“Hershey’s okay too,” Daniel reassures. “Janet says all that hair insulated him.”

“Feel better, sir?” The washcloth pats my face again. “Let’s try it this way this time. How many fingers?”

“Three.” I make an effort to sound authoritative. I’ve got eleven kids coming over tomorrow night and lights still to put on a Christmas tree. “I’m good, Doc.” I try to swing my legs off the bed and realize belatedly, the railings are up on both sides. Probably to keep Daniel from falling off, but how the hell did I just vomit over the side? “Teal’c?”

“I am here, O’Neill.”

“Where’s Carter?”

“Sam’s home putting the rest of the lights on the tree so we’ll be ready tomorrow night. She did that breathing thing on Hershey and he waked right up. But we couldn’t make you wake up. I was scared you were dead,” Daniel says. “But Teal’c said no and we brought you here.”

That probably explains why he’s wrapped around my arm like one of those Honduran jungle vines. 

Only one other thing registers. “Carter did mouth-to-mouth on the dog?” 

“The jolt knocked you out, sir. You were still woozy when they got you here.”

“Teal’c drove really fast,” Daniel says admiringly. “It only took us a couple of minutes to get here.”

Okay, so I was woozy, that still doesn’t explain why there’s an IV in my good arm, for all I know still running junk into my system. Or why a flamingo is nesting on my other arm. 

And Carter did mouth-to-mouth on the dog?

“Just painkiller now. Can you sit up, sir?”

Since when did Frasier start channeling my mother?

“Your mother, sir?”

Oh for cryin’ out loud! “What?” I shake my head in an effort to clear it. Oops, railroad spike. And the spike kinda spirals outta control when I clunk myself in the head with the – oh yeah – flamingo pink cast from the middle of my fingers to just below my elbow on my right arm. “Never mind. Carter did mouth-to-mouth on the dog?”

“He got jolted too,” Daniel answers.

“Having a little more body mass than the dog, it only knocked you out. Can you sit up, sir? I need to tape those ribs if you have any hope of going home tonight. Not that I should even be thinking of sending you home doped up like you are with only an adolescent in the house.”

“I will stay with O’Neill and Danieljackson tonight.” 

“I’m fine.”

“Oh my,” Janet says, “I’m hearing echoes of adult Daniel. Isn’t that strange? I miss him too,” she says, smiling in profile as she motions me over to the side of the bed where she lowers the railing. “But really, there’s no need to sacrifice your self like that, sir.”

“You just wanna tell me what I did to make you knock me out?” The question is barely out of my mouth when she turns around with her supplies and I get my first genuine, straight-on, non-fuzzy look at her. “Oh crap.” I reach instinctively with my right hand, which she grabs in both her own before I can knock her over with it. “I did that?” I feel, suddenly, as though I’ve been punched in the gut. She’s got a shiner like you wouldn’t believe. “I’m sorry.”

Gotta love this woman. She smiles, strokes the fingers of the hands she’s holding, and puts my hand back in my lap. “Lucky swing, sir. Can you unbutton your shirt? Or do you need help?”

“I can –” Another wave of nausea swamps me unexpectedly and I’m doubled over barfing all over her shoes. 

“Jack? Are you okay?” Daniel’s bent double too, peering into my face as his small hand pats the back of my neck. “Are you sure he’s okay?”

“Maybe we should keep you tonight, sir.” Janet motions for an orderlie to clean up the mess, steps out the way and calmly kicks off her high heels, using the washcloth she was probably just using on my face to wipe off her pantyhose.

“Sorry,” I offer stiltedly and hear her husky laugh. 

“I should have expected it. It’s been so long I’d forgotten how badly you react to anesthesia and I didn’t bother to pull your chart after looking at the x-rays. My fault.” 

Once the floor is clean she pads over in her bare feet - damn she’s a pocket fairy without those heels – helps me up again and props a couple pillows behind my back, then unbuttons my shirt herself. 

“If Teal’c will go home with you, I suppose I’ll let you go home tonight, but no more lights.”

I manage a surreptitious glance at my watch. It’s only 17:00 hundred hours. We were home with the tree around 15:00 hundred, so we can’t have been here very long. 

“It happened shortly after 1600 hundred hours, O’Neill.”

I just nod, as I’m holding my breath while Janet tapes my ribs. 

She slides a finger inside the wrapping. “Too tight?” she asks, when I exhale very carefully.

“No, it’s good.”

“Good,” she repeats. “Now lie back.”

“You said –”

“That you could go home tonight if Teal’c goes with you. I didn’t say when tonight. You’re not leaving until I’m sure you’re not going to pass out in the corridor or the elevator.” 

She waits until I lie back - thankfully - though that word is not passing my lips any time soon. 

“I’ll get you some compazine, then an hour without throwing up and I’ll let you go home.”

“How ‘bout half an hour?”

“Daniel, go get your book and read to the Colonel. It will help him pass the time.”

“Sure!” Daniel agrees, scrambling down off the bed. He whirls through the infirmary doors like a small devil dervish.

“May as well pull up a chair, Teal’c; sounds like we’re going to be here for awhile.”

In less time than it takes to say _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_ , Daniel is back with the tome he’s in the middle of – for the at least the fifth time. 

“No spoilers,” I tell him, as he crawls back up on the bed and settles himself against me. 

“You already know the end,” he chastises. 

“That electric jolt knocked it right outta me and I don’t want to know what happens to Dumbledore.”

“Okay,” he agrees equitably. “Close your eyes and rest. If you fall asleep I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go, okay?”

“It’s a deal.” I pull my casted arm into my right side, Daniel against my left side, and relax back against the pillows Janet shoved behind me when she made me lie back down.

Daniel rests the ten pound book against his drawn up knees, slides his finger into the spot he has bookmarked and opens the book. “So, all in all, not one of Ron’s better birthdays . . .”

Somewhere in the back of my mind Jingle Bells is accompanying the quiet lilt of Daniel’s voice as he reads with nearly as good an accent, and just as many voices, as Jim Dale. 

I remember, as I drift off to sleep, what’s at the top of my list of the twelve things I hate about Christmas – putting up the lights. I sure hope Hershey put paid to those damned singing things.

But how the hell did I end up with a flamingo pink cast?

~Jingle all the Way~

“Daniel, get the door. And put Hershey in your bedroom until everybody’s here; he’s driving me crazy.” 

This is insanity. 

I can’t believe I ever agreed to this and the worst of it is, I can’t even blame it on the pain pills Frasier gave me because little Miss-Everybody-Takes-A-Turn-It-Will-Be-Fine, otherwise known as our home school social director, talked me into doing this a month ago. 

There’s nothing I hate worse than chaos and I’m standing in the middle of my living room surrounded by it - eight screaming kids, the dog barking, the radio blaring Christmas music, and now the doorbell. 

One-handed, I snatch up the kid bouncing on the sofa before she falls face first into the coffee table. 

I’m so gonna murder Paige. “Daniel!” 

With every new arrival Hershey goes into his guard dog routine – barking like he’s going to take a chunk out of you if you so much as step across his threshold - then wagging his tail like mad the minute you’re inside the door. 

“It’s Mrs. Paige and CoriAnne,” Daniel announces.

“Are you going to let them in?” I look down to see who I’m holding and have to scroll through the list of names. “Frankie, stay off the sofa.”

“I’m not Frankie, I’m Lisele.”

Exasperated, I set her on her feet. This was supposed to start at six. It’s only 5:45 and we’ve had kids for two hours. 

“You’re welcome to sit on the sofa, Lisele, my insurance doesn’t cover kids bouncing on it.”

“Okay, Colonel Jack. Are you gonna let us sign your cast?”

“For at least the tenth time, no. End of discussion. Go . . . decorate the tree or something.”

“Hi, guys! Wow! Everybody’s here already?” 

“I told you we’d be the last one’s here, Mom!” CoriAnne rushes straight to the boxes of decorations. “Oh! I love decorating the tree!” 

She’s a born organizer, just like her mother. The haphazard decorating crew gets an instant make over and General CoriAnne is assigning duties with the highhandedness of a benign, but well-loved dictator. I should take a few lessons. 

“No, Anna!” Naturally she pronounces it correctly. It’s Ahhnna – not Ann-a. “Not there, there are too many ornaments there already; you have to look for a bare spot. Francis, you can reach higher, put your ornaments up further and leave the bottom for the little kids. No, no, no, Anna . . .” 

Paige does a quick head count. “Is Mikey still sick?”

Oh for cryin’ out loud! Just what I need, a sick kid dumped on my doorstep. 

“Funny, Rachel didn’t bother to mention he was sick when she called to say they were running late.” 

Paige waves an airy hand. “It’s probably nothing. She said he was running a little temperature yesterday. I’m sure he’s fine today. What did you do to your arm?

“Arm? Oh – my arm.” I wrapped one of adult Daniel’s bandana’s around the cast in hopes of disguising the flamingo nesting there. “Hershey was offended by the singing lights Daniel and Teal’c brought home.” Apparently my disguise is ineffective.

Paige looks at the tree, where there are no singing lights - the one and only saving grace of this whole situation - then back at me. 

“I see.” Her brightly painted lips twitch suspiciously. “I didn’t realize you were so in touch with your feminine side, Colonel.”

I conjure up a smile I hope isn’t as sickly as it feels. “Surprise.”

“So . . .?” she prompts.

“So what?” I can play dumb with the best of them.

“So, you’re not going to share why your cast is pink?”

Unfortunately it’s just as disturbing to admit I don’t know how I ended up with a flamingo pink cast as it would be to tell her the damn thing was my choice. I try redirection. “It’s a long story and you look like you’ve got a hot date.”

Paige preens, doing the _‘reveal yourself to art’_ thing with her coat; exposing a strapless, turquoise number, covered in sparkly sequins, that ends approximately a Teal’c-size-foot above the knee and plunges to . . . never mind. 

“Like it?” she asks, sliding her coat down off her shoulders to reveal the dress’s backless state as well.

I oblige with the low wolf whistle she’s looking for. “Really hot date,” I add, shoving both hands in my pockets, though the right pocket has a slight disagreement with the cast and only the thumb goes in.

She runs her tongue over her top lip, accompanied by a slow wink. “Smokin’,” she purrs. “Peyton’s in the car; don’t want him keep him waiting.”

“Uh – no, don’t keep him waiting.” 

“CoriAnne, come give your poor old mother a kiss.” Paige bends artfully when the General dutifully presents herself, the side slit in her dress revealing a long length of dancer’s leg. “Night, darlin’.” She air kisses CoriAnne. `“You be good and do what Colonel Jack says.” Flashing another saucy grin over her shoulder, she prances to the door. “See you in the morning. Have a good time.”

“You too,” I parrot glibly. 

“Oh, I will, Colonel.” She pauses, sliding one hand suggestively up the doorframe, the ultimate vamp. “Hey, if you can get Daniel to stay for the next sleep over, we should paint the town. Sam could bring her boyfriend, Teal’c can bring his Ishy person, and I’ll be your date.” 

All nine families in the home school group are hosting The Gang for a night during the month of December. We’re number five on the circuit. We stayed an hour at the first one and Daniel came home when I left. He lasted a couple hours without me at the second one, spent half the night at Paige and CoriAnne’s before calling to come home, and flatly refused to go to the one the middle of last week, even though we were off world and he was staying with the Doc. 

“We’ve been down this road, Paige. I could never keep up with you.” I’m not even tempted. 

“Honey,” she drawls over her shoulder, “I’d slow down for you. I promise you’d have a real good time.”

And a heart attack. “Go make Peyton happy.”

“Ahh, you don’t know what you’re missing,” she sighs, blowing me a kiss, also over her shoulder. 

The front door closes behind her and I glance down to find Daniel watching the exchange with a calculating look on his face. “How’s the tree decorating going?”

He shrugs and looks over his shoulder. 

CoriAnne’s gang-pressed the remainder of the wild Indians and divided them into two groups of four - two collect ornaments for the crew in front of the tree and two collect ornaments for the two behind the tree. CoriAnne is kneeling by the boxes handing out the decorations, keeping track of what goes where so one side of the tree isn’t overhung with the same kinds of ornaments. 

“Are we gonna do cookies soon?” Daniel wants to know. 

“They need to cool a little longer, then you can do cookies.” The timer rings for the second batch. “Why don’t you go put a movie in,” I tell him, heading for the kitchen as he heads for the DVD player. 

He wanders in a few minutes later and climbs up on a kitchen chair so he can watch as I start rolling out the next batch of dough. Which, by the way, is a little difficult with a fiberglass cast clear to the middle of your right hand. 

“You like her?” 

“Who?” I strip the trailing bandana off the cast; it’s just getting in the way now. 

“Mrs. Paige,” he says, in that way he has of making it obvious he thinks I should know what he’s talking about.

“Sure, I like her. Just not that way.” 

“Not what way?” he asks innocently and I glance over at him. 

The grin he’s trying to suppress sneaks out. “She was wearing a pretty dress tonight. I like the glitter in her hair.”

“You would.” 

This incarnation of Daniel loves glitter. I suppose it’s possible the adult Daniel loved glitter too and I just never knew. 

“She’s pretty.”

“Don’t start, Daniel.”

“Start what? Is this mine?”

“Match making. I’m not interested. Is what yours?” I look up again. He has the bandana rolled around both hands and stretched tight between them. “Yes, it is.”

“Why not? She likes you and I like her and CoriAnne.” He moves his hands up and pulls the bandana tight across his forehead, but there’s too much material for his small hands to negotiate easily so it slips down over the new glasses the minute he tries tie it behind his head. 

“Why not?” he repeats, shoving it up off one eye to glower at me as I chuckle and return to rolling out the cookie dough. 

“First of all, she likes Teal’c better, second, she’s far too young, and third, I’m just an old slow Colonel, rode hard and put away wet. They usually put down animals that make it to my age. You want some help with that?”

“You’re not that old,” he denies, holding out the bandana. “Can I start decorating cookies?”

Then why are there days I feel like one of the Ancients? 

“As soon as we check to see if they’re cooled.” I wipe my hands off on the nearest kitchen towel and tie the bandana for him. 

He hops down off the chair and goes over to the microwave we’ve moved off the counter so he can use it without having to drag over a chair. “I look funny.”

He looks . . . okay, he does look funny - and cute - and maybe it will keep icing out of his hair. We did a practice run on this cookie thing last weekend, so we have a system worked out. It took several days to get the food coloring out of his hair and the clothes had to go in the trash. So now there’s a box of food prep gloves on the table next to a pile of kid-sized chef’s aprons. The bandana is inspired.

Daniel climbs back up beside me, collects an apron from the pile, and turns around so I can tie it for him as well. 

“Thanks,” he says, hunkering down as he pulls on plastic gloves and reaches for one of the cooled cookies. 

He’s five fingers deep in frosting when the doorbell rings again, so I answer it. Down the hall, locked in Daniel’s bedroom, Hershey starts to howl. 

“Hey, Jack.” Mikey’s dad, Cliff, steps inside carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle. “He’s asleep. Want me to wake him up? Or do you have someplace I could put him down? He might actually sleep through the night. Rach gave him some cough medicine that puts him out like a light. She’s right behind me with his stuff.”

There’s a light knock and the door opens as mom steps inside. 

“Hi, Jack. Looks like you’ve tamed the wild horde already,” Rachel says admiringly, closing the door with high-heeled, strappy-shoed foot. Her arms are filled with a rolled-up sleeping bag and a kid-sized backpack. “Where are you going to put the kids to sleep? Mikey will probably sleep through the night. Don’t worry, the doctor says he’s not contagious.”

Yeah, right. “For now at least, better put him in Daniel’s bed.” I lead the way down the hall.

“Where’s Daniel going to sleep?” 

“If Daniel wants to sleep in his own bed, we’ll move Mikey later. They’ll all probably sleep in the living room.”

Hershey shoots out of the bedroom the second I open Daniel’s door. He loops us barking madly, gallops down the hall to check on Daniel, then gallops back to give the strangers in his house a good sniffing before pronouncing them safe and trotting back down the hall to shadow his charge. Whose probably ten fingers deep in the icing by now. 

“Hey, man, thanks for pitching in like this. None of us really expected you guys to take a turn, being new to the group and all. Taking on eleven kids at once can be a little intimidating.”

“I work for the Air Force, Cliff.”

He grins. “Yeah? Well, I still think you’re a brave man, Colonel.”

“And I have reinforcements.” 

“Oh, Sam and Teal’c are on their way?” Rachel chimes in.

“I’m not crazy enough to take on this group on my own. Looks like you guys are off to a party.”

“My office party,” Rachel answers. “Mikey’s been so excited about spending the night here; I feel bad he’s conked out already. I hope he wakes up before we get here in the morning.”

“I’ll wake him up in time for breakfast. Go - have a good time.”

“I don’t think there should be any problems, but just in case, here’s my cell number.” Cliff hands me his business card. “I doubt you’ll need to call us,” he grins, “but I’ll keep the cell by the bed.”

Yeah, everybody knows I’m the sucker who gets up in the middle of the night to go collect my kid. 

“Thanks for doing this, Jack.” Rachel stretches up on tiptoe to hug me as I escort them back to the front door. 

It didn’t take us long to figure out this is a very touchy feely bunch. 

“I feel bad Daniel won’t stay with any of us. Have you had a moment to yourself?” 

Truthfully, I’m not anxious to be separated from Daniel. It’s bad enough when we’re off world and have no choice. So it hasn’t bothered me in the least when he’s called wanting to come home. I prefer having him within arm’s reach. 

I shrug as Rachel steps back and offer a half truth. “This is his first Christmas without his parents. If he needs a little extra security right now, I’m certainly not going to withhold it.”

“I love watching the two of you,” Rachel smiles, glancing over my shoulder at the roomful of kids busily engaged in decorating our tree. 

I should probably acknowledge CoriAnne’s contribution to taming the wild horde. 

“You’re so good with him. He’s lucky you were there to step in when he lost his parents.”

I restrain a totally inappropriate chuckle and actually manage to keep from raising the proverbial eyebrow - oh, if she only knew. 

“Have a good time tonight, kids.” I tip a salute as Cliff slides a hand under Rachel’s elbow.

“Thanks, we will. Got the duct tape handy?”

“Laid in an extra supply this morning.”

“Good luck then.” Rachel reaches to pat the arm I’ve forgotten to keep behind my back. “Hey, what happened?” 

“Accident yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Jack, are you up to this tonight?”

“I’m fine.” 

“What happened?”

“The dog and I took exception to the singing lights – at about the same time.”

Rachel slaps her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s probably not funny to you,” she giggles. “Singing lights?”

“Jingle Bells. Hershey thought they were direct competition.” I purposely give my sigh a little extra drama. “At least he managed to fry the damn things.”

I’m certain Cliff’s booming laugh can be heard throughout the neighborhood as he opens the door. “You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Positive. Go . . . ” I make shooing motions. “Have a good time, forget about being parents for a little while and just have fun.”

Cliff takes Rachel’s arm again. “Well, if you insist. Seriously though, Jack, don’t hesitate to call if you run into any problems, and not just with our kid. We can be here inside of fifteen minutes.”

“I appreciate it, but we’ll be fine,” I repeat ad nauseum. “Go on, you’ll be late.”

“It’s an office party,” Rachel repeats. There is no such thing as late. I don’t know why we’re going, we both hate these things.”

”Oh, you’ll have a good time once you get there.”

“Probably. Let’s go, Rach. See you in the morning, Colonel.”

“Come for breakfast. Nothing fancy, we’re serving around 9:30.”

“We’ll be here.”

“Good. See you in the morning then.” 

This is a close-knit group, they do a lot together socially. If she doesn’t have something going you can bet our official social director, Paige, has something on the drawing board. 

Not only have we been trading off kids for sleepovers for the month of December, we’ve been on two road trips to Denver for Christmas expeditions, put on our own play for relatives and friends, and been to a Trans Siberian Orchestra concert right here in town because Paige knew someone who knew someone who got free tickets for the entire group. 

Working at _the_ top secret facility in the world, I used to think we had some pretty powerful connections; we’ve got nothing compared to Paige.

Hershey twines himself around my feet as I close the door behind Rachel and Cliff and head back to the kitchen. 

Oh yeah, ten fingers, two ears, one nose and one cheek into the icing. Daniel’s fine motor skills are a little lacking these days. He looks up from the cookie he’s decorating and grins. 

Six months or sixteen years, this is one of those Kodak moments I’m gonna want to blackmail him with when he’s big again. It takes thirty seconds to grab the digital camera off the desk in the den. 

“So, whatcha doing, Daniel?”

“Frosting cookies,” he replies, not bothering to look up. Paige supplied us with a dozen plastic cake decorating thingamajigs and he’s concentrating on his cookie for all he’s worth, the tip of his tongue just poking out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to manipulate the icing bag with a dexterity he no longer possesses. He gets up on his knees on the chair in an effort to come at it from a better angle except he overcompensates with the squeezing bit and squirts icing halfway across the kitchen. His head comes up slowly, eyebrows raised questioningly, as he searches for the evidence. His eyes, magnified by the glasses, widen, and his mouth rounds in an O. 

I lower the camera, look down, slick the icing off the front of my t-shirt, and lick my finger.

The eyebrows climb even higher, then draw together in a frown. “Were you like this when I was big?”

“Like what?” 

“Like a little kid.” Daniel scrounges for a paper towel and wipes the icing tip clean. 

I’m behind the video camera again. “There were never any little kids around while you were big, to be a kid with.”

“Oh.” The answer apparently makes perfect sense to him, which is good because it’s the honest-to-God-truth. 

There’s always been a little bit of kid in me, though when we buried Charlie I thought I’d buried that side of me too. 

Daniel looks back up at me for a moment longer, probably wondering if I’m going to elaborate any further. 

I’m not. 

He returns with determination to the cookie. “Uhm, Jack?”

“What?” I inquire.

“What are we gonna do with six dozen cookies?”

“You think we’re going to have six dozen left after the movies are over this evening?”

“Probably,” Daniel replies, absently shoving at the bandana to scratch his ear. No wonder he had icing in his hair last time.

“You don’t think anybody’s going to eat them?”

“Uh, no.” He looks up at me. 

Imagine Rudolph . . . in glasses. 

“Like who wants to eat these things after we’ve had our hands all over them.”

“You think anybody’s gonna care you’ve all had your hands all over them? Do you care?” I ask interestedly, lowering the camera. “And besides,” I point out, “you’re wearing gloves. You’re not really handling the cookies at all.”

“Justin might not want to eat them.”

“Yeah? So? If Justin doesn’t want to eat them we can dig out something sanitary for him.” 

“Okay. Hey! Sam and Teal’c are here,” Daniel announces, just as Hershey initiates his ecstatic, ‘oh goody, everybody’s home’ bark.

A frosting-covered missile shoots past me, pauses long enough to yank open the door and launches off the front porch straight into Teal’c’s arms. 

I’m following with the video.

“Hey,” Daniel greets the Jaffa brightly. “We made some cookies for you to decorate.”

“Ah,” the x-First Prime of Apophis intones, thumping up the steps. “That was most considerate of you.” Shifting the squirt to his hip with one arm, Teal’c swoops a finger along Daniel’s jaw and licks it. “Do you require assistance in garnishing yourself as well, Danieljackson?” 

Daniel cackles like a fiend.

“Hey you, you look good enough to eat.” Carter grabs his face and licks it right off his cheek, which causes Teal’c to nearly loose his grip on Daniel as the kid falls back, giggling hysterically.

“Please.” I lower the camera since I have plenty of incrementing evidence. “Don’t encourage him. You now have almost as much icing on you as Daniel has on himself, T.”

“Hi Sam, hi Teal’c!” a chorus of small voices shout enthusiastically as the pair are swarmed. 

Teal’c has . . . I don’t know . . . unwound? Unbent? Chilled out? Whatever - he’s done it a lot since Daniel got shrunk by the Fountain of Youth thingy. 

Carter too, although it’s not like she’s ever been as formal as Teal’c. She’s just . . . freer, less up tight, more apt to let her hair down and let it all hang out. 

I know there were times when she and adult Daniel got together and did just that, though never when I was around. Too much military brat in Carter to ever let go like that in front of her commanding officer. 

Not anymore. She had Daniel down on the living room floor the other night tickling him until he was laughing like a hyena and begging for mercy. Then she let Daniel turn the tables and tickle her until she was howling like a hyena and begging for mercy. Next time I looked in they were snuggled on the couch taking turns reading _A Christmas Carol._

Teal’c, trailing a kid on each leg and a fourth one clinging to his back, wades to the kitchen where he deposits Daniel back on his chair and listens patiently to a lengthy explanation of the pluses and minuses of decorating with unwieldy bags of icing. His accouterments start dropping off the second they realize cookie decorating season is open. 

Carter brings along her contingent as well and the kitchen is suddenly teeming with wildlife.

“I already got it all over Jack,” Daniel raises his voice to finish and peruses the cooled cookies on the table before choosing a snowman to decorate this time. The first one was a green Christmas tree artistically adorned with red ornaments. 

Teal’c appropriates the rolling pin and holds it up, eyeing it critically. “This is a formidable weapon, O’Neill. For what purpose is it utilized?” The Jaffa extends his arm in a classic fencing pose. 

“Bit short for comfort, don’t ya think?” 

Although, maybe not for Teal’c. He doesn’t need the extra distance a sword gives most people. 

Daniel slides off his chair, grabs a spatula out of the sink and assumes a fencer’s pose as well. “En garde,” he challenges, tiny hand on tiny hip as he slides under Teal’c’s guard and smacks him on the ass with the spatula. “Ha!” he shouts. “That’s one point!”

Teal’c immediately sweeps an arm behind his back, retreating and advancing with an effortless grace that should be unnatural for such a large man. “You will not find me so easy again, Danieljackson. En garde, yourself.”

They fence the length and breadth of the kitchen, Teal’c sweeping chairs and kids out of their way before Daniel can stumble over anything. T backs him up against the wall, then shows him how to fight his way out of a tight spot without being able to retreat. 

Daniel’s got it in thirty seconds flat; he’s off the wall and advancing, forcing the big Jaffa to back up, albeit slowly. 

This is another one of Teal’c’s little rituals with him. Last time I ran across them fencing it was in the hall outside the Mess using rolled up napkins.

They’re halfway back across the kitchen when CoriAnne grabs a wooden spoon off the table. “Show me, Teal’c, show me,” she chirps, dancing with excitement as Teal’c swoops Daniel up and kisses him on top of the head.

“I would be happy to show you some fencing moves, Mistresscori. Mistressdawnie, take up Masterdaniel’s sword and we will see if you have the makings of a swordsman. Gentlemen? Do you also wish to learn the art of fencing?”

“Donnie,” Dawnie corrects, “my name is Donnie.” 

We have some weird names in this group. Dawnie’s name is spelled like a girl’s, but pronounced like a boy’s. Then there’s Anna with an h, Frankie who’s a girl, and her brother, Francis.

Francis wants to join in, as do the twins, Justin and Jermaine. Opponents are armed and paired off. Susie’s coaxed in from the living room to make up the numbers and by the time I get back to the kitchen from taking out the overflowing trash, Teal’c, still holding Daniel on a hip, has each pair advancing and retreating in perfect harmony. 

Wooden spoon and spatula swords are all tilted at correct angles; supple young bodies swaying gracefully in this ancient dance. Daniel, from his secure perch, is calling additional instructions. Teal’c courteously allows him. 

Carter’s at the table ignoring the hubbub around her as only a theoretical astrophysicist Air Force major can do. She’s totally focused on those cookie cutters, making sure the edges are crisp and clean. 

“Teal’c?” She concentrating so hard the tip of her tongue is peeking out the side of her mouth in an exact imitation of Daniel twenty minutes ago. “You want cookies?”

Teal’c disbands the fencing lessons immediately. “What must I do, Majorcarter?” 

“Well first of all you need to make sure the cookie cutter is well floured, the dough kind of sticks if you don’t.” She demonstrates by patting her chosen cookie cutter in a small pile of flour she’s heaped up on the table. “Then you roll out some dough ‘til it’s about half an inch thick and press the cookie cutter in it.” The cookie cutter hovers over the dough, then presses down precisely. “Like this.” It rises with equal precision. “And you get . . . this.” Carter triumphantly lifts a perfectly formed cookie out of its bed of dough and slides it on the clean cookie sheet. 

Daniel pulls his chair back over to the table. “There’s already some made if you just want to decorate. You don’t have to go to all the trouble of cutting them out, T.” He’s not too keen on the cutting out process, surprisingly. 

As Carter gives her astrophysicist’s cookie cutter lecture, chairs are dragged back over to the table, aprons are donned, small fingers find the plastic gloves make great crinkling noises, and mass cookie production begins in earnest. 

I lean back against the sink and watch as Teal’c makes his way around the table; repairing broken cookies, offering advice and praise equally, helping with a delicate angle and an extra squeeze wherever needed. Watching him, it occurs to me he missed a lot of Ry’ac’s growing up years. Maybe he wouldn’t have been decorating Christmas cookies on Chulak, but I’m sure there are many other rituals he’s missed out on by choosing to throw in his lot with us; to the detriment of both he and Ry’ac. Teal’c has told me many times he would make the same choice again. Ultimately, he won his son’s freedom from Goa’uld domination, and that, he says, was worth the high cost to him and his family. Clearly, though, I’m not the only one who’s found an unexpected joy in this downsized Daniel. 

All the girls, and Daniel, are in the kitchen decorating cookies. The rest of the boys are in the living room watching Home Alone, having switched out the DVD the minute the girls, who out number the boys even when Daniel votes with them, disappeared into the kitchen.

Through the cutout between the kitchen and the living room, I see the tree is only half decorated – the bottom half – the oldest in the group is nine and none of them are tall for their age, like our baseball buddy, Tyler. 

Speaking of baseball. “Carter, when do rehearsals start?”

“Friday evening. 7:30. Are you coming with us?”

“Do I have too?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I don’t think so. I still need to do my own Christmas shopping. When’s the Pageant?”

“Christmas Eve.” Carter looks over at me. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, just trying to make sure I have all my ducks in a row.”

The baseball team has been invited to participate in the annual Mt. Zion First Baptist Church Christmas Pageant. Athelia’s apparently running the show and Daniel’s one of the Wisemen. I understand they’ve been working on his costume as part of Daniel’s art credit for school.

“Something’s burning,” Frankie announces without looking up from her masterpiece; a Santa Claus, complete with full, curly white beard, red suit with furry looking white trim and a black belt and boots. The front of her apron looks like a mad artist’s playground, but the kid’s got talent.

“Holy Hannah!” Carter jumps up from the table, dashing to the drawer with the potholders. 

I’m closer. I grab a hand towel and yank smoking pans out of the oven. The smell of baking cookies has already permeated the house and I forgot to set the timer – good one, O’Neill. “Everybody out of the kitchen!” I flap the useless kitchen towel under the smoke alarm as it blares excruciatingly loudly right above me. “Open some windows.”

Carter shepherds the decorators out of the kitchen, opening the front door on the way to the living room. The hand towel momentarily triumphs over the smoke and the alarm stops, giving us a moment of dead silence before blaring again. A twist and a yank and the battery drops out while into the sudden calm a very young MaCauley Caulkin shouts, “Take that, you idiots! And that!” 

Teal’c plucks the bar out of the sliding glass doors and slides them open so the wind howls through like a wildcat, swirling snow and ice into a little pile on the kitchen floor.

“What’s going on?” A dazed Mikey stumbles into the kitchen, trailing a stuffed Scooby Doo. “Hey! How’d I get here?” He turns a full circle, blinking owlishly at the unfamiliar territory as he starts to cough. 

“Get him out of here, Teal’c.” I really don’t need a sick kid inhaling smoke and going into an asthmatic fit on me. 

Twenty freezing minutes later, the smoke has dissipated, the doors and windows have been closed and I shove the thermostat up to 90 as I pass by on my way back to the kitchen. 

Note to self; don’t forget to return the batteries to the smoke detector and turn down the thermostat.

Daniel comes back in as I’m trying to apply a baking soda paste to my right hand fingers with my un-cooperative left hand while trying to keep the flamingo on my arm dry. That hand towel wasn’t quite thick enough.

“What happened? Can I help?” He pulls a chair over to the sink and climbs up.

I hand him the box of baking soda. “Pour some in your palm and make a paste for me, would you.”

“Euhhh,” he says, “this is cool. How did you burn your fingers?”

“Taking scorched pans out of the oven.” I gingerly roll my blistered fingers in his baking soda covered palm.

“Oh yeah. Does it really work?” he wants to know, watching the proceedings with scientific interest.

“It really takes the sting out,” I reply, blowing on the fingers to dry the concoction.

“Where’d you learn that?”

“My mother.”

“Yeah?” he looks up at me expectantly. “How come she taught you that?”

“The first time I remember her using baking soda on a burn was the time I tried to light a fire in the back yard barbeque.” Daniel likes to hear my growing up stories, don’t ask me why. 

“Does it hurt still?” He grabs my fingers now, gently, to inspect them. 

“Not so much.”

He looks up at me again. “Did you burn yourself playing with fire?”

“Yes, pretty badly. Ended up in the ER actually, the baking soda didn’t quite cut it, though the doc told my folks the burn might have been worse if my mom hadn’t been so quick thinking.”

“Were they mad at you for playing in the barbeque?”

“My dad was royally pissed, more so because I’d been told repeatedly not to play with matches. Mom thought burning myself so badly would probably have as much salutary effect as any other punishment.”

“Did it?” He’s still got my hand cradled in both his small hands. 

“Oh yeah sure, you betcha. I never played with matches again.”

“At least until you got big and started having campfires off world.”

I put a finger over his lips, grinning. “Shhhh, we have unauthorized company.”

“Oops.” He looks guiltily through the cut out to where the cookie decorating crew has staged a _coup d'état_ and retaken the DVD player. _Elf_ is on again. “Forgot.”

“I know.” I give him a hand as he jumps down off the chair. 

“Daniel,” Carter calls from the living room. “You want to put the angel up?” She and Teal’c are finishing the top half of the tree. 

I follow to watch as he scampers full speed ahead into the living room. Teal’c lifts him effortlessly to place the angel, but it doesn’t go on perfectly straight and without warning Daniel leans forward to correct the angle, fearlessly trusting Teal’c will counterbalance him.

Without a word of caution our Jaffa adjusts accordingly; he’s understood much longer than I, how precious that trust is.

Carter glances over at me, a soft smile on her face. I just shake my head and smile back. 

I lean a shoulder against the wall and inhale the scent of Christmas, overlaid with remnants of smoke, and am momentarily assailed by memories rising from the smell like the ghosts of Christmas past. 

The first Christmas with just the four of us; Carter was still estranged from her father, Teal’c had no home to go too, neither did Daniel, and no way was I going home. We sort of drifted together, I thought by accident, though looking back I think General Hammond may have nudged us a little, recognizing the fit of the puzzle pieces almost before we did.

Holidays are often an awkward dance for folks without kith and kin. For cryin’ out loud, we covered all the bases; we had your basic misanthropist, a disenfranchised alien, an orphan, and the daughter of an estranged Earthling who would eventually turn into a glowing-eyed alien. The accompaniment to our dance was often the blaring of the off-world gate activation siren, or the hum of machinery in the infirmary – but we managed to negotiate those first awkward steps, despite all obstacles. 

I admit, I was the last to realize I was there because I wanted to be – and it wasn’t until last year, when Carter began planning Christmas in October because she wanted to stretch it out – to pull out all the stops since Resurrection Danny was back – that I really caught hold of the whole Christmas spirit thing. December was a blaze of glory; and that’s about all I remember since I spent most of it in a euphoric haze. I wasn’t so much drunk as intoxicated with the simple pleasure of having all my kids back under one roof. 

A holiday never passes that I don’t think of Charlie and Sara. But they’re good memories now, no longer edged with the frost of despair; especially after spending the afternoon with Sara and her new husband this Thanksgiving. 

Life is never the same for anyone who’s suffered through the loss of a child; you may find touches of spring now and again, might even get a glimpse of summer, but it’s hard to lose the icy despair of knowing the blight of promise that will never be fulfilled. 

Adult Daniel yanked me back when I was hanging over the edge of that despair. This incarnation of Daniel has reintroduced spring and summer into my life and opened a channel that’s allowed me to divert the iciness into sculptures that no longer bear the mark of a twisted soul. He’s helped me realize what a gift every child is – for however long they are entrusted to us. 

Like Carter often says, Daniel is a child of the universe; in both incarnations. He doesn’t belong to any one of us – but he belongs to all of us in that he is an essential part of our souls; the best part. 

Daniel’s downsizing has focused our celebrations around a different kind of holiday spirits this year. We’ve spent a lot of time hanging out in the toy stores in hopes of figuring out what to get him for Christmas. Carter, Teal’c and I have spent hours pouring over catalogs and with two and a half weeks to go, we’re getting a little desperate. I’ve asked him what he wants for Christmas several different times and several different ways and “I don’t know” is the only answer I get.

Much like Daniel could talk about being nine galaxies away from our own when we visited the Island of the Damned during our series of unfortunate events, he can quote you chapter and verse about Christmas - don’t let him get started on the Coptic Christian Christmas they celebrate in Egypt – but this incarnation has never experienced it. 

So naturally we’ve done the whole nine yards. 

We’ve done the neighborhood tour of lights – in fact, we’ve done several neighborhood tours since Daniel is fascinated by all the light-up yard art in profusion this year. Every night for the past two weeks on our way home from work, he and the dog have had their noses pressed to the passenger window ooooing and ahhhing over icicle lights and windows framing lavishly decorated Christmas trees. Colorado Springs starts putting on its Christmas finery on Thanksgiving Day. 

We’ve done the mall thing – okay, I bowed out of that one and let Cassie take Teal’c and Daniel. If I’d done it myself I might not be sporting a flamingo pink cast. Out of that trip, I have Polaroids of Teal’c and Daniel sharing a special moment with Santa, since T wasn’t about to let some fake-bearded, old, fat guy put his hands on our kid. Those pictures were well worth turning my credit card over to Cassie and almost – almost worth the pink cast.

We’ve been to Denver with the home school group to Santa’s secret workshop; we went the TSO concert with them; Carter and Pete took us to see the Nutcracker; we’ve been to at least three Christmas parties so far, with . . . I’ve forgotten how many more to go; Carter keeps track of our social calendar. I know we still have the SGC Christmas party and I’m probably going to have to add an addition on the house to store Daniel’s haul from that bash.

This year we didn’t take the first tree that looked good; we made an adventure out of it. Yesterday afternoon we ditched work early, shanghaied Carter and Teal’c, and headed out to a nearby tree farm to dig up our Christmas tree. It turned out to be a little more adventure than I’d bargained for, but I’m sure the reasons my sins caught up with me will be revealed in due time. Sooner or later someone will feel the need to ‘fess up. 

The house was clean when we finally arrived home last night, the lights were on the tree, and all the decorations had been hauled down from the attic. I suppose I should be eternally grateful, since Daniel had about read himself hoarse before I managed to make it an hour without puking. I wasn’t up to much more than passing out on the bed by the time we made it back here. Teal’c must have put Daniel to bed; I know he made him breakfast this morning, but he was gone before I staggered to the kitchen for my first cup of coffee. 

I was alert enough by the fourth cup – yeah, there are days when I can rival adult Daniel in coffee consumption – to realize he was taking the ornaments out of the box one at a time and very carefully turning each one over and over as he examined it before putting it back into the box. I had another déjà vu moment sitting watching him, although this was more along the lines of my mother’s sight … I had an instant’s vision of Daniel as an adult, sitting on the floor with a pair of twin little Danny’s and a tiny Sha’re in his lap, handling these very same Christmas ornaments. 

I tell ya, it kinda took my breath away. 

I know I said I could do this one day at a time, but the longer we go the more attached I’m getting to Daniel 0.7. The 0.7 version has lots of upgrades. 0.7 Daniel is more fun; the 4.0 version was … you know, kinda scratched and scarred by the time we got him; 0.7 Daniel listens better; you could never turn the volume up loud enough to make a difference with 4.0; the 0.7 version is less prone to melt-downs than the 4.0 version; and the process of communication is much easier with 0.7 Daniel then 4.0. Despite all the upgrades, I do still miss version 4.0 - a lot. As a team we miss him a lot too – it’s just not SG-1 without him.

I’m startled from my reverie when an arm wraps around my leg. “Hey, Sport. What?” 

The arm around my leg unwraps and is raised, palm out, short hand for ‘hold me’. The other is occupied; his finger is in his mouth. “I’m tired. When is everybody going home?” he whispers as I pick him up. 

“Not until tomorrow.” He’s usually in bed by 8:00, no later than 8:30, and we’ve had a busy day today, it’s no wonder he’s tired. “Everybody’s staying here, just like at Paige and CoriAnne’s a couple weeks ago.” 

“How come?”

Okay, so the process of communication is occasionally harder at seven than at forty. “I thought we talked about this.”

“I want to go to bed.”

“You don’t want to sleep out here with everybody else?”

He considers for a moment, then shakes his head, reaching up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger in an elf lock. “Me and Hershey want to go to bed,” he repeats, slurring several words as the finger gets shoved in up to the second knuckle. Usually, he only chews when he’s anxious and he’s gnawing on that finger as if it were a bone.

“What’s the matter, Sport?”

“Nothin’.”

“I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, flirts a shoulder and says rapidly, “Idontwantmikeysleepinginmybed.”

Oh. 

I look around the semi-dark living room. Teal’c must have put Mikey back to bed when the smoke alarm woke him up.

“Okay. So when everybody goes to bed, we’ll move Mikey out here. In the meantime you can sleep in my bed and I’ll put you in your bed later. Is that an okay compromise?”

“Hershey can’t sleep in your bed.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not supposed to be sleeping in your bed either. Hershey has his own bed.”

“He doesn’t like it.”

“Hmmm, how would he know? Since he’s never slept in it.”

“I made him try it first, but he said he didn’t like it.”

Another upgrade; version 0.7 can talk to animals, version 4.0 could only talk to humans – well, and most aliens of the speaking variety. 

“Yeah, well, why don’t you take his bed into my room and tell him he should try it again.”

“If Hershey can’t sleep with me, you have to stay until I go to sleep.”

“I can live with that.” Hershey is already sitting at my feet. Have I mentioned the kid and the dog are inseparable? “Psst, Carter, we’re going to the back.”

“Night Sam, night Teal’c,” Daniel whispers loudly.

“You’re going to bed already?” CoriAnne says incredulously. “It’s only 9:00 o’clock.”

“Janet says this body needs lots of rest so I’ll grow big and strong again. And besides, me ‘n Hershey are tired. I wish you’d all go home so I could sleep in my own bed. Hey, I bet if you call your mom’s and dad’s they’d come and get you.” Daniel sits up animatedly. “Put me down, Jack, I’ll get the phone.”

“Shhhhhh, I can’t hear,” Frankie hushes. “And I don’t want to go home; I want to spend the night here.”

“Our parents are at a party,” one of the twins offers, I think it’s Jermaine.

“Yeah, they prob’ly both turned off their cells,” the other adds, so he must be Justin.

“Our parents are purchasing the remainder of our Christmas gifts this evening, they would not appreciate being disturbed,” Francis intones, from his spot leaning against Teal’c’s leg. 

“Indeed,” Teal’c responds. “I believe you are correct, Masterfrancis. Danieljackson, were you not aware your friends were spending the night? Have we not spoken of this on several occasions? I was under the impression you were most eager to have them coming for a . . . sleep-over,” he makes the word into two, giving it a slightly more exotic flare than a regular old sleepover. 

“I didn’t understand it meant someone was going to sleep in my bed,” Daniel mumbles. “Can we go to bed now?” 

”By your command,” I execute an about face so we’re headed down the hall as Daniel giggles at my Cylon impersonation. I like the old Battlestar Galatica, version 4.0 did too; version 0.7 likes the new one. Hershey likes them both.

I send Daniel off to his own bathroom to take care of his nightly routine - I’m not a big fan of toothpaste remains and soap relics – while I get his pajamas and the dog’s bed from his room. 

Strangely enough, when I tell him to get in the bed, Hershey curls right up inside his deluxe, large breed, genuine fake fur dog bed, lays his head down on the side and closes one eye. He keeps the other on me as I tuck in Daniel and toe off my deck shoes so I can be on the bed too. 

“I read six chapters last night, you have to read six tonight,” Daniel advises me.

“Only fair,” I agree, hunting up my reading glasses. “Scooch over so I can sit down.”

He obligingly slides over, meting out the covers hand over hand so they stay in the same place, grabs the pillows from the middle and my side of the bed and stuffs them behind me as I sit down. “Thanks, Sport.”

“Comfy? You’re gonna be here for awhile you know.”

Is it me or is he getting cheekier? “I thought you were tired.”

“Tired, but I’m not sleepy,” says my linguist. “There’s a difference.”

“I see. You’re sure you read an entire six chapters last night? Because I only remember part of one.”

“That’s because when you weren’t throwing up you were sleeping . . . sorta kind of . . . I think.”

“Don’t remember that either.”

“Throwing up or sleeping?”

“Oh, I remember the upchucking part much too clearly. Where are we?”

“I put a bookmark in it.” Daniel sits up to slide the heavy tome out of my hands, lays it open on his lap and leafs through until he finds the bookmark that’s slipped down inside the pages. “I left off right here.” His miniature finger marks the spot for me to start. “Want me to tell you what happened while you were sleeping?”

“That’s okay, my subconscious heard it, it’ll fill me in.” I pick up the book. “Any chance I could go back to the beginning of this paragraph?”

“Sure,” he says, accommodatingly. “Won’t bother me.”

We’re only a chapter further along when Carter and Teal’c join us. 

Daniel, still wide awake, puts a finger to his lips, but pats the bed invitingly. Carter stretches out on top of the comforter on the other side of him and he immediately turns so he can lean against her. She slides an arm around him, snuggling him as she nuzzles his hair and kisses his neck so he giggles softly. “Saaaaaammmmm,” he protests, brushing off her kisses with his shoulder. “Don’t tickle me. I just want you to hold me.”

“Oh, sorry,” she murmurs, blowing lightly in his ear. “I thought the message was tickle me,” she whispers, sliding a hand under the covers to dance her fingers over his ribs.

“Hey.” I peer over the top of my glasses. “Are we reading or tickling here? Because I’m missing out one way or the other; I can’t hear myself and I’m not getting any tickling in.”

Teal’c catches Daniel’s blanket-covered foot and hones in on his in-step. “I believe we are tickling, O’Neill.” Version 0.7 is highly ticklish in his in-step. 

“Help, Jack! Help!” Daniel screeches, as the giggles bubble out of him like froth on a champagne fountain.

“Shhhhhh, you’ll have everybody in here. Did you leave the horde out there unchaperoned?”

“Your Mistersandman has collected his night’s bounty. Majorcarter and I assigned sleeping spaces and ordered the platoon to bed. One or two are still awake and watching the movie; however, most of them zonked out as soon as their heads touched the eiderdown cushions.” Zonked is a new word for Teal’c. He learned it from Daniel and uses it as often as possible. 

“What’s eiderdown?” Daniel asks breathlessly, Carter hasn’t left off tickling him, though T’s let go of his foot.

“A kind of filling for a pillow,” Carter supplies, letting out a huff of breath. The two of them settle comfortably, cuddled together. “Sir, we need to tell you about that cast.”

Ahhhhh. The _dénouement._

“We do?” Daniel asks, frowning. “Why?” The finger immediately heads north for chewing.

I slide the bookmark carefully in place, close the covers and rest it on my lap. At the foot of the bed, Teal’c widens his stance and clasps his hands behind his back. I know I’m in trouble when Teal’c plants himself. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Daniel says, chewing harder.

“You picked the color of the cast?”

“Uh, no sir, we had to make special arrangements for the cast itself.” Carter suppresses a smile. “And before you ask, we had nothing to do with the circumstances of it happening, that was pure coincidence. We just decided to take advantage of it.”

A good commander always knows when to let his 2IC dig her own hole. I rest my left arm over the right one and wait politely for her to go on. She’s good; she looks me straight in the eye, despite the fact she’s lying down, wrapped around our kid, and says, “We can’t function as a team if you’re withholding information from us, sir.”

“It’s my fault,” Daniel pipes in a very small, but very clear voice. “I forgot I wasn’t supposed to say anything about the dog lady.”

For just a second I close my eyes. I weaseled out of saying anything the night we picked up the dog, with a little misdirection. In hindsight maybe I would have been better off to have told them everything then. Doh, ya think, O’Neill? 

“So - he told you about the island?” 

“Yes, sir. We were looking at the pictures in Daniel’s photo album the other day, when he casually mentioned the dog lady. Teal’c picked up on it immediately. So then we put two and two together and came up with Hershey’s breeder. You weren’t concerned she might be a Goa’uld, you thought she might be another incarnation of Oma Desala.”

“And I ended up with a pink cast because you guys are pissed at me?”

“Try to think of it more as a gentle reminder that we’re all in this together, sir.”

“We cannot be effective in this family, O’Neill, if you do not allow us to be equal partners in both the pleasure and the uncertainties.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t do it on purpose.” Daniel slides out of Carter’s embrace and crawls out from under the covers to climb on my lap. “It’s pretty though, don’t you think?” He moves my left arm, picks up my right arm and plunks it in his own lap. 

I suppose this could have taken a much uglier form than a pink cast. I’m not sure what at the moment – but despite appearances to the contrary, Teal’c can be very imaginative. 

I’ve had a lot of experience eating humble pie lately, so with a sigh I bite the bullet and apologize, though I’m telling you, these words never get easier to say. “I’m sorry, all right? That whole damn island scenario messed with my head and by the time we got home, I wasn’t sure what to believe.”

“You’d bust me back to private if I were to pull a stunt like that in the field, sir.”

I raise an eyebrow and Carter backs down – a little. “I realize we’re dealing with a unique scenario, the fact remains, you should have told us.”

“You’re right, I should have told you, no matter how I felt about the whole damn thing – real or imagined – I should have told you both.” I rest my chin on Daniel’s head. “So what did you tell them?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “I just know the dog was really a lady and I had a fun time with her when we were playing on the surfboard in the water. I don’t remember much else.”

“You don’t remember waking up the trees?”

“Oh, that,” he says dismissively. “Of course I remember that and I remember the big water that nearly drownded us

“Drowned.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No you didn’t, you said drownded.”

“Yeah, drownded.”

“Never mind. Do you remember what you did to wake up the trees?”

He shrugs again. “I just touched them is all; they could hear me.”

“Daniel, when the water came, what did you do with the trees to make it . . .” Carter pauses, looks at me, and adds, “So we didn’t get drownded?”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“I don’t know.”

“You did something though, you gave the trees something, or you shared something with the trees, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I just knew if I put my arms around that tree we would be safe. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Daniel –” Carter begins, but I cut her off with a look. 

He burrows against me, pressing his cheek to my chest as he shivers. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he repeats. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble, Jack; I didn’t mean to. And I’m sorry we didn’t tell you and Teal’c about the dog lady, Sam. But I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. I want to go to bed now. Are you going home?” He shifts his glance first to Carter, then Teal’c.

They both recognize the dismissal for what it is and comply graciously. I signal them to wait for me; better late than never. I suppose it’s as good a time as any to debrief our island adventure.

“Okay, we won’t talk about it anymore tonight.” Carter leans up to kiss his forehead. “I love you, Sport. Sleep tight.”

“What’s sleep tight, Sam?” There’s a little bit of nerves in the question and a little bit of trying to make up for his abrupt dismissal. 

“It just means to sleep securely. So sleep tight, my little man, knowing we love you very, very much.” She leans up to kiss him again, smack on the lips, and slides off the bed, reaching a hand to Teal’c to pull her up. 

He does, then comes around the side of the bed and scoops Daniel off my lap, giving him a proper hug. “Sleep securely, Danieljackson and know you are much cherished in whatever incarnation you inhabit.” Teal’c returns him gently to my lap and I put my arms around him. 

Daniel cuddles up as I lean back against the headboard, but waits until they leave the room to say anything more. “What will you tell them?”

I sigh. “Everything.”

He’s quiet for a minute, though the chewing has morphed to sucking now. Then out of the blue – or maybe not so out of the blue – he asks, “Do you tell me everything?”

How the hell does he do this? One minute everything’s hunky dory; the next I’m sucking air like a just landed fish. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

Occasionally, I can judge how I should answer by the way he looks at me; but he doesn’t look up now, and that’s my cue. 

This is serious. 

He shrugs and his free hand starts picking at the weave in the fabric of my shirt.

I sigh again and give him a little extra squeeze. “No. I don’t tell you everything.”

“Like what?”

“Like sometimes we’re in a situation that reminds me of something you did when you were big – I don’t always tell you about those memories.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not necessary. Sometimes they’re not good memories, Daniel. There’s no need to share them.”

“What if I want to know?”

I wait a couple of heartbeats and try, “How ‘bout if you tell me exactly what it is you want to know instead of making me guess?”

More silence; more picking at my shirt . . . and then, “Did the dog lady tell you something about me?”

“You want to know if Oma told me something more than what she told us about whether or not you’ll be big again?”

“Did she tell you I’d be big again?”

“She told us both we’d know what to do when the time came. If that’s telling us you’ll be big again, then yes, in a way, she told us you would be big again.”

“Before I grow up?”

“Very likely.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“She said in this form you have a lot more control over your gifts than you did as an adult.”

“I knew that,” he huffs.

“O-kay.” I wait. I can almost feel the wheels turning as he processes this conversation.

“What else did she say?”

“Well, frankly, if she said anything else, it didn’t stick with me. Those were the two biggies as far as I was concerned.”

“You’re sure?”

“Uhmmm, give me a sec . . .” I scratch my head, just to be sure nothing else surfaces. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

“Okay. I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

“I believed you the first time.”

“I didn’t –”

“It’s okay, Daniel. Really.”

“You’re not mad? About the cast or anything?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Not even about the pink cast?”

“Not even about the pink cast. I don’t know how it’s gonna look with fatigues, but I’m sure I won’t ever forget again that Carter and Teal’c are part of our family too.”

“That’s a good thing, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s a good thing. Want me to move Mikey out of your bed so you can sleep with Hershey?”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” He yawns widely.

“Sure. It’s a big bed, big enough even for the dog,” I offer, resigned to the inevitable. “Come on, Hershey.” 

He doesn’t need a second invitation. 

“You don’t get to sleep under the covers,” I tell him, as he roots around pawing at the comforter. I get a look, and a sigh, and the dog circles once before flopping down on top of the bedspread. Yes, I know damn well I’m attributing human behavior to another dog – but I swear this dog understands everything said to him. I may not be holding conversations with him like Daniel, but we’re definitely communicating. “You, on the other hand,” I tell my Littlest Ancient as I slide him between the sheets, “are sleeping under the covers.” I pull the blanket up over his shoulder and loosely tuck it in.

Daniel wriggles around until he can throw an arm around the dog’s neck. “Rub my back?” he says around the finger.

“And the rest of that sentence would be?”

“Please?” Since most of his face is buried in the pillow, I can only hear the grin.

“By your command, Dr. Jackson.” In short order the very small back under my hand begins to rise and fall to a gentle rhythm, a sure sign my kid is asleep. But I don’t want to go, so I sit for awhile longer, cataloging all the things I need to say and thinking of the innocence embodied in this small package we’ve been entrusted with. 

He seems so vulnerable, so defenseless; but that incorruptible innocence has stood us in good stead more than once. I wonder if Daniel hadn’t been with us would the Nox have found us worthy of resurrection. Would the alternate Carter have sent me back through the wormhole to save another Earth when her own was disintegrating? If it had been left in my hands, Tonane’s spirits would have destroyed the base. Why didn’t that Unas just beat the shit out of him, throw him over his shoulder and carry him back to his clan to complete his rite of passage? And I think again of Kheb – of Daniel standing barefoot on the steps of the temple as an army of Jaffa march into the courtyard to demand our surrender and Daniel tells us to put down our guns. I thought he was frickin’ nuts, but I put my gun down. 

Daniel’s innocence is stronger than a Goa’uld personal shield. 

On a sigh I push up off the bed. Oma said we were chosen - read hand-picked - for this job; too bad they didn’t give us a how-to manual to go with the kid. It might have come in handy a few years ago, because I don’t believe she meant just for this time while he’s small. Maybe I would have had more patience, maybe I would have listened better, maybe I would have paid more attention. 

Funny thing; maybe it wasn’t 4.0 Daniel that was faulty, maybe it was O’Neill 3.9. – 4.9 that caused all the system glitches. 

 

_Epilogue_

The radio’s playing Jingle Bells – dogs barking and cats meowing – but it’s recognizably Jingle Bells. 

I glance over at Daniel, who’s torn his gaze from the lights passing by the truck windows in a blur and is looking over his shoulder at me, grinning. 

Hershey starts to howl along with the chorus, right on key. Whatta ya know, a dog with perfect pitch.

The cast passes through my peripheral vision as we turn into our neighborhood. An original piece of artwork adorns the top of it; a one-legged, long necked, curved beak specimen drawn in indelible black ink and signed by the artist, Daniel Jackson. It’s a credible piece of art and almost looks like it’s dancing if I move my arm just right. 

Janet offered to recast it this morning, but I think I’ll keep it; a white flamingo just doesn’t do it for me. 

Besides, the salutary effects may increase with exposure. 

~*~


End file.
